


Smile

by Nyssa



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-21
Updated: 2010-09-21
Packaged: 2017-10-12 02:07:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/119601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyssa/pseuds/Nyssa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starsky and his permanent partner get reacquainted.  Takes place immediately after the episode "Black and Blue."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smile

Starsky'd been smiling at him all afternoon, that tip-tilted, mostly toothless smile that affected one side of his face far more than the other. It alternated from right to left and back again. Hutch amused himself for a while by trying to guess which side it'd be on the next time he glanced up from his paperwork, or turned back from the water cooler, or returned from the men's room. He didn't have ESP, but he'd been right nine times out of eleven smiles, so far. And he could make a pretty good guess as to what those smiles portended, too.

Starsky hadn't given him a real grin yet, though. That bothered him a little. Starsky didn't flash his teeth at just anybody, but he'd flashed them at Meredith that morning, more than once. Well, he liked her. And she clearly liked him, and she was a good cop. Starsky had said so. And it was pretty obvious to Hutch that professional cordiality had shaded over into unprofessional intimacy there at least once.

But that was okay. He'd have probably done the same thing himself, given the chance. He and Starsky didn't exactly cleave only unto each other.

The smiles made him feel a lot better than anybody with a hole in the shoulder should feel. They told him Starsky was glad he was back. But he did want to see that grin.

They got off at five, for once. Hutch went to the coat rack for his jacket, but Starsky was there before him. He whisked the garment off the rack and held it out to Hutch with a Walter Raleigh-style bow.

"Thanks," Hutch said, snaking his right arm into the sleeve and pulling the other side carefully over his left shoulder. "Are you going to keep being this helpful till I get the sling off?"

"No, I just got nothing else to do right now." Starsky smiled again. Number twelve, right side. "Can you cook?"

"Like Julia Child. You know that."

"One-handed?"

"Absolutely."

"So you're completely self-sufficient, huh?"

"Completely."

"Don't need any help, huh?"

"None whatsoever."

"Good as new, huh?"

"Sure am."

He noted number thirteen pulling Starsky's mouth sideways. "Then you can cook for me, too."

"Oh, I see." Hutch nodded wisely and fished his car keys out of the jacket pocket. "What's wrong, moocher, can't make your own living?"

"You're mean," Starsky said, conversationally. "You don't love me anymore, do you?"

"Not a bit," Hutch said, and went out, smiling himself as he heard Starsky's hurried footsteps behind him.

 

*****

 

Cooking, of course, was contingent on actually having something to cook. Hutch hadn't been grocery shopping in -- well, he couldn't remember exactly when. He was standing with the refrigerator door open, looking doubtfully at the interior, wondering whether days-old stew or scrambled eggs (he hoped the eggs were still fresh) would suffice to soothe his partner's stomach, or whether they should just call out for pizza, when he felt something brush against his ass. He twitched and looked behind him.

"S'cuse me," Starsky said, and gave him an unrepentant smirk. He was perhaps an inch behind Hutch, peering over his shoulder at the meager array of dinner prospects. "Y'know, we could eat every bite of what you got in there and still be hungry enough to knock over a deli."

"There's some lettuce, I think," Hutch said, reaching for the vegetable crisper. "I could make a salad -- "

"That won't help," Starsky interrupted, and bumped him again from behind. "That stuff don't stick with ya."

Hutch caught himself, grabbing the handle of the freezer compartment. He turned around slowly and put his lips close to Starsky's. "It's probably wilted anyway."

"What is?" Starsky said in a whisper.

"The lettuce, dummy."

"Oh, the lettuce." Starsky ruffled Hutch's mustache with a finger.

"Leave that alone." Hutch caught Starsky's hand and lowered it. "That's not yours."

"Damn right," Starsky said. "I wouldn't have it." He leaned in and belied his words by nibbling gently at Hutch's upper lip.

Hutch closed his eyes. "We're letting all the cold out," he murmured against his partner's mouth. "Food'll spoil."

"What food?" Starsky asked, but he pulled Hutch away from the refrigerator and let the door swing shut.

Hutch slid his good arm around Starsky's left side, glad to do that much, but sharply frustrated at not being able to get a good armful. He muttered, "Damn sling," and made a half-hearted attempt to slide out of it.

"Hey, hey!" Starsky grabbed his arm -- Hutch winced -- and arrested its movement. "Hold it, boy. Accept your limitations and you'll be a better human being."

Hutch stared at him. "Who said that?"

Starsky smiled, left side. "Me. Pretty deep, huh?"

"Beautiful," Hutch said, with a sigh.

"Yeah, I thought so." He laid his forehead against Hutch's and whispered, "Don't move your arm, okay?"

"Can I move everything else?" Hutch asked, grazing Starsky's cheek with his lips.

"You tell me," Starsky said. "Your tongue in workin' order?" He moved his head, catching Hutch's mouth with his.

It was a nice kiss, Hutch thought, a hot one, and it wouldn't stay put. It spread slowly downward and to the sides until he was drawing slow circles under Starsky's left ear with his tongue, and Starsky was alternating sharp nips with soothing licks under his, and Hutch had forgotten all about his sling, and his shoulder, and was starting to get a little fuzzy on his name, too.

When Starsky pulled back at last, his face was flushed and his eyes were dark. And he grinned with every tooth in his head.

Hutch grinned back, heart light.

"Been a while," Starsky said. "You missed this?"

It had been weeks and weeks, Hutch thought. Months, maybe. But he shrugged with elaborate casualness. "I can take it or leave it."

Starsky kissed his throat. "I've missed it."

Hutch ran his hand over Starsky's lower back. "Looked to me like you were doing all right."

Starsky cocked his head. "You mean Meredith? Ah, that was nice. She's sweet and tough both." He smiled again. "I love that combination in a partner."

"Me too," Hutch whispered, sliding his hand down to Starsky's ass. He watched the Adam's apple bob in Starsky's throat as he swallowed.

"She's got little hands, though." He touched Hutch's upper lip again. "And none of this ugly hair on her face. If you wanna get kissed and tickled at the same time, she ain't the place to go."

"Oh, you like that, huh?"

"What?" Starsky breathed against Hutch's mouth. "Oh, gettin' kissed and tickled -- yeah, that's nice once in a while."

"Like right now?"

"Like right now."

Hutch let Starsky kiss him again, and again, before deciding that had gone quite far enough. He propelled Starsky backward, out of the kitchen, past the table -- smothering the cries of "Hey, where're we goin'?" with kisses of his own -- and tipped him backward onto the couch. Hutch followed him down carefully, trying to avoid putting any pressure on his bad shoulder, which resulted in putting more pressure on Starsky than was optimal.

Starsky gasped. "Hey, how much do you weigh? And what's wrong with kissin' in the kitchen anyway?" He bucked under Hutch's weight, quite delightfully.

Hutch would have liked to ride that wave for a while, but not if it meant breaking his partner's ribs. He raised himself as much as he could on his right elbow and watched a grateful Starsky pull in a lungful of air. "I got tired of kissin' in the kitchen, that's what. You may have gotten good and laid in the last couple of days, but I haven't."

Starsky adopted a hurt expression. "You got tired of these lips?"

Hutch smiled. "I didn't say that, did I?"

"Ohhh," Starsky said softly. "I got it. And you wanted to come in here so I wouldn't bruise my knees on that hard tile floor." He shook his head admiringly. "Always thinking of others before yourself. You're the kind of man I aspire to be, Hutch. Thoughtful, noble, self-sacrificing..." He grinned again, into Hutch's eyes, and abruptly slapped him on the ass. "Okay, buddy boy, let me at it."

They disentangled themselves, Starsky slid to the floor, and Hutch leaned back against the cushions. Starsky's hands found his zipper, and Hutch let his eyes drift shut because it was easier to concentrate on the high that way, to feel the blood racing in his veins, the skidding pulse of his heart, the wild rush of anticipation that lit his nerves. Then Starsky freed his swollen cock from his pants, and just the sudden looseness was enough to make him groan.

Starsky looked up at him with dancing eyes. "Take it easy," he said. "Jeez, is it Lent or something? How long's it been?"

It hadn't been that long at all, of course. He had little trouble locating willing ladies. It was just that Starsky got him hotter, faster, than any women ever did. And he wasn't about to admit to _that_.

"Starsk," he whispered, "just hurry."

"You don't rush artistry, pal," Starsky said, and gave him a light lick across the tip.

Hutch tangled shaking fingers in Starsky's curls and pulled his head up. "You do," he said, "if the artist wants to get off tonight."

Starsky's expression sobered instantly. "Maybe you're right," he said, and cleared his throat. "Here we go, then."

Hutch released him, and almost immediately arched up off the couch as Starsky's mouth slid down his cock like a tight, hot glove. "Yeah..." he gasped, and then he could say nothing remotely articulate. He was reduced to helpless moans and strangled cries and wildly enthusiastic grunts as Starsky held his hips in a bruising grip and sucked hard, harder, hardest. He pressed forward blindly, knowing somewhere in the recesses of his consciousness that his partner would stop him if it got to be too much. But it was rarely too much for Starsky. He was a bottomless pit.

It was perfect, and he came, as he'd known he would, quickly and profusely. As the waves receded, he looked down, dazed, and saw Starsky's throat working furiously, his eyes squeezed shut in rapt concentration, his face slick with sweat. Hutch was filled with a surge of what he could only define as awe. He had no hope of ever being that good at this.

Starsky's mouth left him at last, and Hutch sighed and let his head fall back. He expected Starsky to get up, but instead he felt a warm weight on his right leg, just above the knee. He looked down and saw Starsky's head resting there, his cheek against the soft denim, his eyes still closed. His hands moved slowly up and down Hutch's thighs. Hutch reached down and stroked his face. He felt Starsky's breath on his hand in a sigh.

After a moment, Starsky looked up at him. "Okay?" he asked.

"Okay," Hutch said, and smiled.

Starsky rose and sat heavily down beside him. He opened and closed his mouth several times in rapid succession, and then lifted one hand to his jaw and massaged it tenderly. "If I got a dislocated joint," he said, "I'll send you the bill, big guy."

"I'll pay it," Hutch said softly. He reached up and ruffled Starsky's hair.

"Thought you were gonna do more than that," Starsky said. "C'mon."

Hutch sighed. He didn't enjoy feeling inadequate. "Okay." He slipped off the couch and onto the carpet. "But don't expect much. I'm out of practice." Inspiration struck him suddenly. "I've lost the calluses in my mouth."

He'd thought it only mildly amusing, but Starsky shouted with laughter. Hutch blinked in surprise at the flattering reaction, then surrendered to hilarity himself, laughing till his ribs hurt.

Starsky aimed a playful swipe at his head, which Hutch dodged. "Just do it, okay?" Starsky managed, between giggles. "Doesn't have to be a fuckin' symphony."

"Well, I can hum a little -- "

"Oh, yeah," Starsky breathed, and Hutch, startled by the sudden change of tone, looked up at him to see all the humor gone from his eyes. " _Yeah_. You do that."

Hutch felt his cheeks warm. "Uh, that was a joke too, Starsk. You know, funny?"

"Do it," Starsky said. As Hutch watched, his eyes slipped shut and his tongue emerged to moisten his lips. "Do it now, babe."

Hutch watched that tongue for a moment and swallowed. "Any, uh, any particular tune you'd like to -- "

"Do it!"

"Okay!" He reached one-handed for the button at Starsky's fly, swore under his breath, and snapped, "Help me!"

Starsky blinked at him for a second with lust-clouded eyes, then hurriedly raised his hips off the couch and opened his jeans. He hauled his cock out gingerly, and Hutch watched it rise. He always imagined it gasping for breath upon being sprung from its cruel confinement.

He started to mention that, to make yet another attempt at levity, but Starsky began stroking himself and Hutch's mouth went dry. He licked his lips quickly. "Stop it," he said, and slapped Starsky's hand. Starsky gave him a narrow-eyed look, but dropped his hand to his side.

Hutch leaned forward, bracing himself with his right hand against the back of the couch, and lowered his mouth over the head. He didn't mind the taste so much as the bulk. He could never get as much as he wanted as deep as he wanted, or as deep as he thought Starsky wanted. He choked easily, and that made him feel guilty. He didn't know why, since Starsky never complained, and in fact always expressed fervent approval every step of the way. But he disliked feeling second best.

Irritated at the direction his thoughts were taking, he slid as far down as he could and hummed a few notes of the Beatles' "Yesterday". He couldn't imagine Starsky would even notice, so he might as well pick something he liked.

Starsky gave a violent jerk as the vibrations hit him, and Hutch hastily backed up, but he was damned if he was going to let it throw him off. He pressed forward again, made an attempt at the theme from "M*A*S*H," and was rewarded with a breathless, "God, Hutch. _God_."

Encouraged, he applied his tongue to the underside, to the sensitive spot there just under the crown, and thought hard while Starsky writhed and gasped. "Girl From Ipanema?" "Ring of Fire?" "Tie a Yellow Ribbon?"

He went with "Blowin' in the Wind."

Starsky thrust up with an incoherent cry, and Hutch braced himself as hot, silky seed flooded his mouth. He swallowed it down as fast as he could -- he'd never seen the point of spitting it out; it just stayed on the tongue longer that way -- and put his hand at the base of his partner's cock, squeezing and stroking coaxingly until there was nothing left to give and Starsky fell back, panting, against the cushions.

Hutch raised his head and peered at him. Starsky's eyes were closed, but while Hutch looked, he opened them slowly, blinked, and then held out his arms. Hutch smiled and climbed up to meet him. He insinuated his good arm under Starsky's shirt and stroked his back. It was slick with sweat, and Hutch could feel the heart still pounding.

Starsky hugged him tightly, pressed his face against Hutch's left shoulder, and then jerked back as if burned when he heard Hutch's pained gasp.

"Damn," he whispered, his eyes seeking Hutch's. "I forgot."

Hutch shook his head and tried to smile. "It's okay. I wish you could stay there."

Starsky smiled, too. He moved his head to Hutch's right shoulder, and burrowed comfortably against it. Hutch rubbed the back of his neck.

After a peaceful minute or so, Starsky pulled back and looked him in the eye. "What the hell are we gonna do about dinner?" he asked.

Hutch cleared his throat. "You still hungry?"

Starsky's mouth pulled back on the right. "Yeah, I need solid food, buddy. These little supplements just don't do the trick."

Hutch smiled back. It was hard to stop smiling at Starsky once you'd started. "I know what you mean. Want to do my grocery shopping for me?"

"No."

"Good. You'd blow every dime I've got on Twinkies and M&M's."

"Melts in your mouth, not in your hand."

"Whatever. Want to go to the Pits?"

Starsky's eyes lit up. "Hey, yeah. Huggy's got a new waitress. She's not bad to look at when she bends over the table."

Hutch rolled his eyes.

Starsky shrugged. "Well, you can look at her too, y'know."

"Oh, I will. Count on it."

"Then let's go. Um, after I go to the john." He got up and disappeared into the bathroom.

Hutch waited until he came out, and then took his own turn. When he looked into the mirror over the sink, he froze. There was a white streak of semen caught in his mustache. He washed it off hastily.

He opened the door to see Starsky waiting expectantly. "I was gonna tell you," he said, and grinned. "I swear to God, Hutch. You think I'd let you walk into Huggy's like that? With _me_?"

"I think you're a danger addict," Hutch said, brushing past him to get his jacket. "Not to mention a son of a bitch." He relented slightly. "Sometimes."

"Danger addict?" Starsky repeated slowly.

"You like to live dangerously. It turns you on."

"Bullshit," Starsky said, with more heat than Hutch expected. "It might turn me on, but not at your expense."

"Okay," Hutch said mildly. It wasn't a big enough deal to fight about. "Let's go."

Starsky stared at him a moment, and then seemed to relax. He picked up his bomber jacket from the back of a chair and shrugged into it. When he spoke again, his voice was much softer, and he didn't look at Hutch. "I love you, you know."

Hutch cleared his throat. "I know." The day he felt the slightest doubt about that would be the day he'd quit the force.

Starsky looked at him then. "Okay. Long as you know."

Hutch nodded, and opened the door. Starsky went past him, and Hutch caught the sharp tang of breath mints and the soft, comforting hint of leather. He followed Starsky downstairs. As they stepped out into the fading sunlight and he shut the street door behind them, Starsky turned back to him and smiled.

It wasn't a flashy grin, or a cocky smirk, or a "Let's go back to your place and get it on" invitation. But Hutch liked it better than all the others. He leaned in and kissed it very quickly, without even looking around first.

When they got to the Pits, they were both still smiling.


End file.
